


Experience

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault, Desk Sex, F/M, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Multi Hermione, Office Sex, Rape, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-08-03 02:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16317185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: In her Fifth year there was a suggestion box for students to place ideas on how the students felt they could improve their education, all anonymously of course.Hermione placed the suggestion that two weeks before students were to take up their N.E.W.Ts, they should take two weeks out to gain experience in the work place of their future choices based on a strengths and weaknesses assignment. Harry was to be an Auror under Kingsley's guidance. Ron was working with his dad in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts; Hermione was not told whom she was to work with until the first day.The recently widowed Lucius Malfoy who was still grieving over the violent deaths of his wife and son had offered a large amount of galleons to be the one to train her in the etiquette of the Wizarding World.Spending 7 hours a day with Lucius Malfoy was sure to be an experience to remember.There will be days to come when she understands Eliza's frustration with Professor Higgins - especially as it becomes less clear over whether Lucius is training her to be a PA or a role she has no desire to fulfill... or does she?





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> This was started long before Deathly Hallows came out so all the theories, head-canons and characterizations going to be pre-Deathly Hallows. In spite of all the names mentioned Hermione definitely does end up with Lucius! 

**Mon** **day**

**Day One**

**Ministry of Magic**  
  
Hermione was quivering with excitement, It seemed that the Professors of Hogwarts _did_ look at the suggestion box after all. At last, she thought, it was a wonderful feeling to be _this_ appreciated. She placed the suggestion that students in their final year should take two weeks out before exams to have experience in the career that the pupils wanted to go into before they left school in her fifth year. Two weeks was sufficient enough to let the person know that they were going in the right direction before any life-changing decisions could begin to blossom and bare fruit.  
  
When asked where her strengths and weaknesses lay in an informal interview through Rufus Scrimgeour the Minister of Magic, it was clear what she was to become; Hermione was going to apply to be a Personal Assistant. She loved nothing better than organising other people, making sure that they were kept on schedule and always keeping one step ahead of whomever her temporary boss was going to be, thrilled her to her core. Hermione had practically been a secretary for Harry and Ron since she had known them.  
  
Despite her enthusiastic excitement for the coming day of her first taste of work in her own world, it did not stop the ache that Hermione held in her chest. Despising how her ropes of steel seemed to morph into frayed threads of weak wool, threatening to snap under the pressure of the overwhelming panic of the unknown. Currently, she was sitting on a marbled bench in the foyer of the Ministry awaiting the arrival of the person who had volunteered to be her two-week boss with nervous anticipation, digging her fingers into the seat so hard her knuckles turned white.

Unlike her best friends she did not know whom her boss was going to be. _I hope that I am going to be Arthur’s_ _PA, heaven knew he needed all the extra organisation I could offer him_ _,_ she thought as others in her year were being picked up by their own. Plus she had known Arthur almost as long as she had known Ron and her heart filled with love for the unassuming but secretly powerful man. A sneer graced her lips when she saw Pansy trotting after Rita Skeeter with a huge grin on her face; she wondered how long that was going to last.  
  
Suddenly nerves were getting the better of her and she triple-checked that she was respectfully attired. That morning her mother walked into her bedroom holding a skirt suit with white blouse that had pinhole swirls on the corner of the flared collar, some strappy black sandals and clear tights. Fortunately, her mother knew to leave the choice of undergarments to her. With a flick of her wand, Hermione had her hair in a relaxed chignon topped with a tortoiseshell slide.

Now she was terrified as most of her year had been paired off. What if no one wanted her? Hermione’s stomach developed butterflies as she saw the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, coming her way. No, she cannot be working for the Minister! Can she? Hermione stood up and smoothed down the front of her suit and breathed on her hand to make sure her breath was all right.  
  
“Miss Granger,” the Minister greeted the young woman.

Hermione had briefly met the Minister at Dumbledore’s funeral, immediately she decided she’d had nothing but hatred of the man. _Although_ , she sighed, _I suppose I should show cordiality as he will be my ultimate boss_ _sometime in the near future_. She was frightened by the prospect that he was going to be her boss now.  
  
“Minister,” Hermione said politely, though she caught a tremor of fear in her tone.  
  
“Let me take you to my office where you will meet the Wizard whom you will keep in line for the next two weeks.”

Hermione smiled sweetly outwardly showing the man that she was in his steady hands. Though if Ron had been there both would have exchanged a sarcastic eye-roll as he would have mimicked the Minister through the art of mime. One of his most endearing qualities was aping mannerisms of any supercilious wizard they had come across. Just because she respected authority as a general rule, the individuals placed in positions of power were another matter entirely; since his shameless idea to use Harry as the Ministry’s poster boy, the Minister had taken the rare position in Hermione’s Mental Book of Adults She Will Disrespect.

To the ordinary person the simpering smile was one of absolute deference to the man escorting her through the building. The Minister offered her his arm in an act of civility. He led her into a lift and Hermione felt her stomach go into her throat as the Executive lift made its way up the various floors of the busy Ministry, stopping for the select few, which as a budding socialist embarrassed Hermione and made her feel like a fraud.

The spectacular lift held a darts board, a mini-bar, toilets and some comfortable leather chairs around tables for people to chat and share drinks with. With smooth ease Rufus led her to the round chairs after giving her a cool lemonade once others had settled.

“This is the style, eh?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkled as they glanced appreciatively down her frame. Lingering long at her smooth shaved legs. “Relax, this is going to take some time,” he took a seat opposite her and sipped his own beverage. “We’re right at the top and it takes enough time to warrant all this I can assure you. It is an urban myth that Abraxas Malfoy was conceived in this same lift.”

What could she do with that information? Just as she opened her mouth to form a reply the lift came to a sudden halt, the Minister turned to her and smiled. The doors smoothly and silently opened. His hand held hers as he gracefully led her out of the lift. The skinny trim secretary eyed them with wide-mouthed shock as they walked past her to his office. Hermione gasped at the size and opulence of the room. It was akin to a Penthouse suite in a luxury hotel! The light streaming in from the windows cast long powerful shadows along the wide oak floor. Hermione stood stock still to be able to take in such grandeur. The elegance of the office almost made her true ambition die just to _be_ the Minister for Magic,

“I want to have an office like this,” she whispered.  
  
Rufus offered for her to take a seat and she accepted silently. Awestruck into immediate obedience, Hermione slowly sat on the large wing-back dragon-hide and oak chair.   
  
“Coffee?” Rufus asked.   
  
“Yes please,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “White, medium, no sugar.”  
  
Rufus raised an eyebrow. She was obviously used to giving commands. He carefully watched her face as a kaleidoscope of emotions shifted and faded across her sweet features. Impatiently, Hermione started drumming her fingers on her delicious thighs. If his plan worked he would have her as his own undersecretary – it will be poetic justice to be rid of the pink abomination who keeps trying to hit on him. The leonine man was still appreciating the professional form of Miss Hermione Granger, when his own secretary came into the room.

“Miss Pecksniff,” he sighed, “bring Miss Granger a medium sugarless coffee please,” Miss Pecksniff nodded, smiled uncertainly towards the young witch in the chair, and fiddled about with her glasses, “yes, Miss Pecksniff?”

“Sir, shall I show _him_ in as well?” the secretary asked as she pushed her glasses up her nose jumbling files in her arms awkwardly as she tottered up to the Minister’s desk to place them reverently in his in-tray.  
  
“Oh, he’s arrived?” Damnation, he had no time now to scoop her up. His cool expression defied the burning anger at being thwarted. If Rufus hated anything it was being thwarted. Without batting a single eyelash, he answered with cold calm, “How long has he been waiting?”

“About an hour, sir.”

“Then, yes, show him in!”  
  
Hermione began to fidget slightly in her seat, pulling the hemline of her skirt down to cover her knees whilst she was suddenly overcome by an urge to examine her feet in exact detail. Musing all the while what she would do if she disliked the choice of boss, moments later she firmly decided that she would like whomever the Ministry had chosen to help her develop and hone her skills. _After all_ , she sighed, _the person clearly was in a powerful position, perhaps_ _I_ _can do some good in_ _my_ _time here_. A mendacious air seemed to envelope the large room as the door finally opened. Hermione heard a confident step thud gently into the room.

_That was a good sign,_ Hermione thought,  _at least the Wizard would be one that would know exactly what he wants._  
  
“Ah, Miss Granger, please rise from your seat to meet your overseer,” Rufus said politely.  
  
Hermione got up smoothed down the front of her navy suit again and turned around, her face still looking at the floor.   
  
“I am looking forward to training you, Miss Granger,” a smooth, cultured voice interrupted her pleasant thoughts. Suddenly her senses froze, her jaw dropped in shock. Hermione’s heart stopped beating for a second and she slowly lifted her head to see if her memory was right! After gulping down some air she sank back in her chair as she took in who her temporary boss was going to be: “I have heard good reports of how punctual, accurate and fast you are in your work, I could not help but be intrigued and picked you as soon as the scheme was approved.”  
  
“Mr Malfoy?” she squeaked – she really wish she had not allowed Molly to feed her a full English breakfast with all the trimmings, especially after the soft boiled eggs she’d had at home, she realised projectile vomiting would not help in this situation so she just sat there spluttering whatever first popped in her head. “I-I- there must be some sort of mistake… I mean…” _Shut up, Hermione, you’re sounding like Susan in Chronicles of Narnia_. “How – how do you do?”  
  
“I am quite well, thank you for enquiring,” he smirked taking delight in her discomforted and awkward welcome. “I am sure you know the basic itinerary sent to you by the Ministry – I see you have followed dress and grooming etiquette even if you managed to fudge the correct greeting, still you are a quick learner.”  
  
“I read it,” Hermione replied tilting her chin defiantly glaring up at a man who should, by rights, be dead or in Azkaban. Her gut churned as she witnessed how Lucius just stood there leering at her; like she was some bug to squash under his shoe. “I knew it was decided by the Ministry over who got to pick whom.”

“Yes, and you were quite a popular little thing – Kingsley Shacklebolt is completely furious you did not end up with him – I think he might have used it as an excuse…”

“Kingsley is an honourable man – I would have been proud to have been supervised by him.”  
  
“Now,” Rufus said, to stop Lucius from revealing exactly how popular a choice she was for varying reasons known only to the individuals. He also did not wish Miss Granger to know that he also desired her to replace the gangly Miss Doreen Pecksniff. “I might suggest you two spend at least half an hour in casual chat before you start training her.”  
  
Lucius smirked at the Minister and bowed slightly. He then offered his arm to Hermione who took it tentatively, shivering in fear the moment she realised she was going to be alone under _his_ command. Charily, she glanced from the corner of her eyes to see his expression, blinking in shock when his smug profile met her earnest gaze. She walked as steadily as she could so as not to collapse at his side. Lucius walked her out of the room and back to the ‘luxury’ lift. His office was on the third floor.  
  
“So,” Hermione said, her lips trembling in an effort to start a conversation with this intimidating Wizard, “it’s true then. You have given names of your acquaintances and got back your cushy position in the Ministry in return.”  
  
Lucius turned towards her. She had spoken to him without looking at him. He cocked his head to one side and contemplated her profile.  
  
“The Dark Lord used my son to punish me,” Lucius said dispassionately, “it was the last straw. He had truly shown his true colours the night he murdered my son. Potter was right about him being just a glorified murderer.”  
  
Hermione was gobsmacked at that strange confession. Lucius Malfoy; proud, arrogant, Lucius Malfoy had conceded to a young boy… an enemy? Lucius noticed he had startled the young woman. He had told the truth, he saw no point in lying.  
  
“What of Mrs. Malfoy?” Hermione asked quietly.  
  
“She died of a broken heart that very night,” he replied with a burdened sigh. “It might not have appeared so, Miss Granger, but I did like my family. I have galleons by the score but there were a scant few women like Narcissa, and we could never have another child after Draco was born.”  
  
Hermione remained silent as he drifted off into his own mind,

_The grief he felt the moment he had come back from their double funeral – Bellatrix fawning and simpering over their so-called Lord and Master made him sick to the stomach and if he could expel the acid regurgitating in his throat he would have spat it out in her hideous face._

This had turned dark and personal extremely quickly, she was sure this was more than the usual casual chat a witch held with her boss. Then again that was one of her failings, she was awful at small talk. Lucius sighed as he gazed upon the perfectly attired muggleborn, and then the lift stopped. The doors opened silently, and Lucius offered his hand to the young woman.  
  
Hermione accepted the hand, with swan like grace she rose from the comfortable seat. Her hand was now settled firmly in the crook of his elbow as they walked down the hall towards his office. It was not as spacious or as light as the Ministers, but it was still luxurious none the less. Hermione noted the black leather corner settee at the far end of the room. A low-slung stained-glass table filled the square – she could see shimmering dolphins, mermaids and sparkling jewels. All of them moving in liquid harmony around the flat of the desk.  
  
He took her to a chair and sat her down without a word as he walked around the desk to sit on the chair opposite her. The rich wood of the desk with the green leather inlay separated her from him a few feet. To her, though, it felt like miles and that bothered her for some reason. Tilting his head he stretched his arms across the desk, clasping his hands together firmly settling them. Suddenly, he morphed from Lucius Malfoy the arrogant aristocrat – to Lucius Malfoy the calm entrepreneur.  
  
“Miss Granger,” he said in a tone that expected each of his commands to be obeyed without question. “I am a harsh taskmaster I think you’ll find. I expect perfection and I expect efficiency, organisation and the ability to keep your head about when things start getting hectic... and believe me there are hectic days.”

“Yes, I can keep my head whilst others are losing theirs, it is a strength I feel.”  
  
“Good,” he said. “I understand that you are not to be paid for your services these next two weeks but, contrary to popular belief, I am actually quite generous when it comes to my money... I have squared this with the Minister that you are to get slightly less than the minimum wage. I want you to have some sort of incentive after all. The minimum day for a young Witch of your age and skill is 1 gold galleon and seven sickles a week. I will pay you instead twelve silver sickles per hour... would that be sufficient?”  
  
Would that be sufficient; no question is there? Hermione mulled over the proposition. It was quite generous for him to pay out of his own pocket. Unless, she narrowed her eyes and her lips thinned, there was a quid pro quo with subheadings and paragraphs to this unexpected perk.

“It’s a damn sight better than nothing,” she said aloud possibly without meaning to. Lucius smirked a little at how surprised she proclaimed that spoken thought.  
  
“Any questions?” Lucius asked as he leant back in his dragon leather swing chair, and steepled his fingers in the meantime.  
  
“Yes, how long is lunch?”  
  
“An hour,” Lucius smiled.   
  
“Where is my desk?”  
  
Lucius smile grew wider and he gestured over to a desk situated by a window, showing what the weather was outside, as the Ministry was situated under the streets of Muggle London they had enchanted windows to show the weather of the moment… although some people enchanted theirs to be permanently warm and sunny.  
  
Hermione didn’t realise she would be in such _close_ proximity of Lucius Malfoy... she was hoping for a wall to separate them.  
  
“My lunch hour and your lunch hour is to be the same. I take lunch at one till two.”  
  
Hermione nodded. Harry and Ron had managed that self-same lunch hour. Lucius got up off the seat and went to her.   
  
“There is a canteen here in the Ministry,” he explained.  
  
“Run by house elves I imagine,” Hermione muttered, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Lucius heard and noticed her subtle gesture, but he simply chose to ignore. His son had told him all about her little campaign to free elves. Not realising that she was not the first that had tried and failed. “Poor brainwashed things!”  
  
“Now,” he snapped a little more harshly than he intended, he disliked anyone who failed to see the wood for the trees. “Let me show you where the canteen is.”  
  
She took his offered arm again, and silently made their way to the canteen. She noticed that it looked much like a school canteen. The seats were plastic and the tables were cheap with wobbly legs. She looked around distinctly unimpressed.  
  
“ _You_  lunch here?” Hermione asked disbelief evident in her voice.  
  
“No,” he coughed shuffling his feet in a rare show of shame. “I have a better place to lunch. This is for general staff and work experience people...”  
  
Hermione nodded. It would be too incongruous for Lucius Malfoy to sit here and lunch. It was too common for his tastes.   
  
“So,” he said. “You know where everything is.”  
  
“Apart from a lavatory,” Hermione replied.  
  
“Ah, of course, there is one two doors down from my office on the same side,” he replied.  
  
Hermione nodded. “That appears to be everything.”  
  
She squared her shoulders and they were just about to walk back to his office when they bumped into Arthur Weasley with his hand proudly adorning his sons shoulder.  
  
“Mr Malfoy,” Arthur said coldly.  
  
“Arthur,” Lucius replied.

Curiosity prevailed, and Lucius peeked down at the son. Without realising it the usually composed man sighed as he remembered his own son who had been brutally murdered in front of him. Also, though he would never admit this, he had always been jealous of Arthur Weasleys profundity of children.  
  
“Showing Ron around the Ministry,” Arthur said with a hint of smugness in his voice as he squeezed Ron’s shoulder. For once Hermione felt a small swell of pity rise up inside her for Lucius Malfoy.  
  
“Mr Weasley,” Hermione said respectfully, “please don’t.”  
  
“Ah, Weasley,” Lucius said turning towards her. “I don’t suppose you know who my PA is for the next two weeks. I rather gathered you wanted her too. I’ll leave you to find your own way back Miss Granger, I trust you took in the details.”  
  
Hermione nodded. She was one of the few first years that didn’t get lost around Hogwarts in her first week. Lucius walked past Arthur who stepped aside.  
  
“Wow,” Ron breathed. “You’re stuck with a right smarmy bastard!”  
  
“He’s not a bastard!” Hermione suddenly leapt to her temporary boss’s defense. “If I am prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt so should you! He is _prepared_ to pay me twelve silver sickles an hour.”  
  
“But that’s against the rules!”  Ron exclaimed.  
  
“Perks of working with a Slytherin,” Hermione said a little proudly.  
  
“Be careful, Hermione,” Arthur cautioned. “I was here the first time he had supposedly turned.”  
  
“The first time he _supposedly_ turned his wife and child were still alive,” Hermione said. “This time his son is murdered, and his wife died of a broken heart,  _and_  …”

“Yeah?” Ron sneered.

“Never mind, you won’t believe it either way.”

“He’ll say anything,” Arthur’s tone was dangerous and suddenly Hermione thought she saw him shimmer into a bear. “I am not comfortable with the idea that you are working in such close proximity with him.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Arthur,” her expression warmed at his paternal protectiveness, “he’s been gentlemanly, so far anyway.”  
  
Arthur sighed. If only she knew what Lucius sometimes expected his secretary’s to do, she was not his daughter so officially he could not say anything. With a smile on her face Hermione impulsively hugged Ron and then walked away back to Lucius office. Somehow Arthur’s hatred of Lucius and Slytherins in general irked her. Gryffindors were _supposed_ to be above all that. She walked down the hall and opened the door to Lucius office.  
  
His back was turned, and his hands were joined together at the curve above his hips. Hermione could tell the man was lost in his own world.

“Close the door,” he said quietly. She did so with a firm snap. He turned around and looked at her. Hermione felt he was staring right through her. “Why did you do that?”  
  
“Do what?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Defend me?” Lucius asked. Hermione furrowed her brow, and she felt awkward. “When Arthur and his young son spoke against me.”  
  
“I felt that Arthur was in the wrong,” Hermione whispered as she bunched her fingers in the excess material of her skirt. “I know it must be some sort of revenge on his part, but it is still wrong to tease a man that has lost people he cares about. No matter _whose_ side they are on.”  
  
“I did not list loyalty as one of the things I wanted from you, as you are only here for two weeks.”  
  
“It’s just my nature, sir,” Hermione stood tall and proud, her defiant chin jutting out – she was like a Viking warrior Princess prepared to fight to the death – he could not believe how lucky he was to have received first dibs. “I hate seeing people suffer. He had no right to boast when you had lost everyone who meant so much to you and filled your heart with love. It was tacky and tasteless. Even if he did it to protect me.”  
  
Lucius remained quiet as she continued her speech, taking time to contemplate the young woman standing metres from him. Already she had proved to be good company. At least he could talk to her, which surprised him rather, he expected a quivering little princess – not this hard-nosed elegant witch. The little girl he had met in Flourish and Blotts had indeed grown up. Confused, he realised that he did not know how to tackle the young woman before him.  
  
“Here’s your desk,” he gestured to one that almost matched his in size just for something to say, even though he was aware Hermione knew where it was. “You might want to er, settle in, and…”

At his blundering attempts to recover decorum Hermione’s lips quirked in a half smile, she thought it was rather charming the way he blushed and tried to bluster his way back to confidence. Mistakenly she raised her eyes to gaze into his, underestimating how mesmerizing they were. Merlin! Those eyes held her, enthralled her like no other. Her legs were turned to jelly as her inelegant tottering confirmed.

In a state of boredom as no orders had yet been given, Hermione checked her watch and wished she had not! Two hours to go for lunch, what the hell was she supposed to do between now and then?  Suddenly, several unruly stacks of parchment appeared on the desk, littering its once pristine surface. If there was something Hermione despised it was a messy work surface. Squaring her shoulders she walked with purpose to turn chaos into order. Efficiently, she organised the parchments into two smart piles.

Once Lucius was satisfied that she could use her own initiative he strode over to his own desk and sorted through the growing pile of mail only he had authorisation to peruse and answer. Three trays appeared, and he began to sort through them. Calmly whizzing through them as a person who had known where to put what with little effort. Ones to answer were put into the gold tray, the ones that needed careful consideration in the silver tray, the ones he needed a second opinion on in the bronze tray. The rest, like circulars and memorandums from Umbridge, he dumped in a wastepaper basket.

After taking a few moments to gather his thoughts he began to look through the silver tray pile. Pursing his lips as he scanned the parchment, a crinkle settled in the centre of his brow. If he continued like this he would never get around to opening the second pile coming in. He read the first three letters without looking at his new companion. After the fourth one he began to sneak surreptitious glances over her way.   
  
Hermione had smartly organised her desk to her satisfaction, filling empty ink pots with precision not allowing a drop to land on the beautiful dark wood, finally, she took out a knife kit and picked out some quills at random. Some she threw in the bin, others she smiled as they were already prepped. The blunt ones she took her knife and rested the quill on the little flute made for such an occasion, it had little nobs to twist. It was a rather tedious operation – certain types of quill needed to to write at different angles. This was the task Lucius always set his new employees – a mundane job but one that had to be done by swallowing pride but the line of intellectual witches before him who had to do this asinine chore before Hermione often quit by the third day. It was a test to see who took true pride in their work. No one could complain that the quills most certainly would not be to blame for a misspelling. A well angled, sharpened fletched quill was a PA’s best friend. Surreptitiously he watched how scrupulous she was in her task, what he saw ticked a box is his mental examination form.

It was then that Lucius decided she needed to get out of his sight. She was tempting him already. Ice cold stalagmites were coated in reinforced steel guarding his metaphorical love, he was almost feeling the shield melting at the sight of her in such lovely summer sandals. No good could come of his hard work should rumours start that his frozen heart was beginning to thaw. Narcissa and Draco were dead only six months previously; it seemed tasteless to start thinking about looking for a new wife. New wife? Where did that thought spring from? This girl was still at school for crying out loud!

Lucius had not let himself cry over the deaths of his wife and son; why should he? Tears would not bring them back, so what was the point? Yet he was suddenly overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of emotions and memories that attacked him, especially ones of Draco as a care-free young child.  
  
He looked at what she was wearing with distaste showing on his features. He decided that the muggle outfit would not do. She was working for a pure-bred wizard and should dress accordingly.  
  
“Miss Granger,” he said. She turned around and swung her legs to the side of the chair so that she could face him. His eyes hooded over at the sight of her soft shapely limbs.  
  
“Yes, sir?” she asked keeping her tone matter-of-fact and gentle.  
  
“I suggest that you finish work at least two hours earlier so that you can purchase work appropriate robes,” she opened her mouth, but he raised his hand as a gesture to silence her objections before she could make them. “Money doesn’t have to be a problem, that outfit, however, is.”

Hermione looked down and frowned figuring out what could be wrong with an outfit her own mother would wear when Lucius sighed. She snapped her head back up.  
  
“What’s wrong with it?”  
  
“It’s muggle,” he said. “You are a Witch, Miss Granger, I think it’s about time you started dressing like one. Go to Madam Malkins and charge it to my account.”  
  
Hermione managed to stop herself from blinking in shock.   
  
“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I’d like a cup of Irish coffee. You know how to make one of those don’t you?”  
  
“My Irish grandmother taught me when I was six years old,” she said.

Lucius smiled. Hermione got up and he gestured towards a door, Hermione opened the door and walked into the room. She saw a cauldron charmed to keep a permanent supply of hot water. She found the coffee and put in a level scoopful in the coffee pot and ladled some water in and placed the plunger around the rim. Shortly afterward Hermione found a nice china cup a nearly full bottle of whiskey and freshly whipped cream. Gently, but firmly, she pressed the plunger down, poured the coffee in and then added a capful of whiskey, spooned some whipped cream on top then sprinkled some cinnamon to decorate. A silver teaspoon was the finishing touch. Carefully, she carried the beverage into the office and gingerly placed it on Lucius desk.   
  
As she leant over Lucius caught a whiff of her perfume and closed his eyes as he inhaled. He was trying to reform himself. The old Lucius would think nothing of toying with her affections; but he was a new Lucius. Supposedly in control and… he shuddered… _nice_.  
  
“Anything else, sir?” Hermione asked. Lucius tried to count to ten in his head.  
  
“That will be all,” he said. Then he noticed she didn’t make herself one. “You know, Miss Granger, when I have a cup of coffee you can make yourself one if you want one.”  
  
Hermione smiled. She went back to the kitchenette and made herself a cup of ordinary coffee. She went back to her desk and glared balefully at the stack of letters placed there, she swore they weren’t there a moment ago. Surreptitiously Lucius watched her as she rifled through them and then she turned with a bemused expression on her face.  
  
“I would like you to write a reply to each of those letters using your own words. I will look through each of your reply’s and correct them – which you must copy _meticulously_ by hand before they are ready for the post.”  
  
Hermione smiled and resisted the urge to clap her hands happily at such responsibility. With an enthusiastic bounce she sat down in her chair. Methodically organising her work space; first arranging clean parchment in one pile, the ink-pot and quills to one side, then the letters in front of her. Smoothly she dipped her quill in the ink and picked up her first letter, chewing her lower lip as she contemplated how to reply, then she drew a clean sheet of parchment to begin writing. Lucius watched her every move, he found that she looked adorable when her brow was creased at the centre, her eyes glazed over in contemplation, nibbling her lower plump lip.

Within ten minutes Hermione had written the first three replies in peace and quiet.  _The perfect secretary,_ Lucius thought. What a joy. So far she was not asking irritating questions at a mile a minute, although he could see her begin a question several times. She had opened her mouth; he could hear the hitch in her breath preparing to talk, and then saw her shoulders deflating as the unspoken question never made its way out of her lips.  
  
“Lunch time, Miss Granger, I suggest you be back here five minutes before the hour is up.”  
  
A little yip of fear exited her mouth as the calm silence had broken, her eyes blinked rapidly before she paid attention to Lucius, her eyes wide with shock as if she had forgotten where she was and who she was with. As for Lucius he had to hold in a smirk at how much like a startled kitten she resembled, Frantically, Hermione tidied what she could of her desk then she stood up taking hold of her handbag. Mumbling as she did so, Hermione unclasped the metal lock on top of her bag then reached in to bring out her purse and quickly checked the amount of money she’d possessed.  
  
“Good,” she sighed with relief. “It’s enough for today.”  
  
Lucius had promised her that he would pay her at the end of each day. So she would have to have money to have lunch here without having to go to Gringotts each morning beforehand to exchange currency. One thing she was sure about was how Lucius liked to be viewed by the world therefore he most certainly would not wish to see his PA bring sandwiches in a tin foil wrap to eat slowly at her desk to control the pangs of hunger throughout the rest of the day.  
  
Once Hermione reached the cafeteria she zoomed around the room to find her friends, when she did she smiled then she walked up to the food counter. After she had picked out what she wanted for her lunch her friends had spotted her, Harry waved her over to their table and Hermione bounced over to them. She set it down on the table and sidled in the seat next to Harry opposite Ron.  
  
“So,” Harry said, “who is your boss?”  
  
“Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione answered promptly. Harry choked on his sausage. Hermione rolled her eyes and thumped him on his back. Once Harry had recovered she said: “He has been inordinately gentlemanly; and kind, and he’s even paying me daily.”  
  
Ron narrowed his eyes at her. “It sounds like you like the git.”  
  
“That _git_ has just lost his wife and son. Might I remind you two that Draco was tortured to the point of insanity by his own Aunt, and then murdered brutally by that despotic moron? Might I _remind_ you that Narcissa; his mother; had to stand and watch the ceremony and died that night of a broken heart. I’ve just spent the whole morning in a room on my own with him and he hasn’t said or done anything nasty at all.”

“Yeah but…” Ron began but was quickly interrupted by his friend.  
  
“In fact Harry, he agrees with your assessment of You-Know-Who. He has shown me around and he’s even prepared to buy me some work robes. He’s not nice, and he never will be but he’s _different_ from the man we met before our second year.”  
  
“This is the girl that still trusts Snape,” Harry muttered.  
  
“I _do_ still trust Snape, Harry,” Hermione retorted whilst savagely stabbing a piece of chicken breast in her salad. “Anyway, how’s your mornings been.”  
  
“Mines been great,” Ron said thankful that the conversation had been changed so quickly. “Dad is such a cool person to work for.”  
  
Hermione reserved her judgement. Harry turned around, his intelligent green eyes scrutinising the girl he will always view as his sister. She seemed unharmed and, better yet, not traumatised or a quivering mess so he would take her at her word for now.  
  
“Kingsley’s a _real_ taskmaster,” he bounced on his seat fully charged and excited. His eyes glistened with childish joy that Hermione was happy to see. “I might not feel like going to the cinema tonight, Hermione.”  
  
“Oh,” Ron said disappointed. “I was looking forward to that.”  
  
Hermione shook her head smirking as she continued to masticate her lunch in silence. She felt she had been spoilt in her temporary employer. When she first found out it was _him_ she almost screamed about the unfairness of life, but he was actually all right. He was a businessman. When it came down to it Hermione believed that Lucius was a changed man or had the motives to change.  
  
“Why is he going to buy you robes?” Harry suddenly asked.  
  
“Because he says I am a witch and should dress like one,” Hermione said pushing the empty bowl out of the way before digging into her chocolate brownie.   
  
“Lucius Malfoy allows  _you_  to be a witch?” Ron scoffed.  
  
“Yes,” she replied.  
  
“I don’t believe it,” he replied.  
  
“I don’t think he noticed that I noticed; but he was blushing when he looked at my legs. I think that was the main problem,” she explained. Although she was looking off into the distance as she did so, not noticing the way Ron had puffed up at the the mere suggestion of Lucius ogling the girl he…well… “Anyway, tonight I have to go shopping. Good job there is no such thing as Nine To Five in the Wizarding world.”

“You almost look deliriously happy at the thought that Lucius Malfoy was eyeing you like you were a…a…”

“A what, Ronald?” her tone turned frosty. “Say it, I dare you!”

“A…Street Woman.”  
  
The indignation on both Harry’s and Hermione’s faces were eerily matched at Ron’s misinterpretation of the statement. Then she giggled at how old-fashioned Ronald Weasley could be sometimes.

“Trust me Ron,” she sighed. “Lucius Malfoy will go back to his mansion and have parties involving witches far more sophisticated than I. As for calling me a _Street Woman_ just because a man is looking appreciatively at me is so 19 th century. Grow up, we’re not children anymore.”

_In fact_ , she thought, _I find myself flattered at_ _the thought of being eyed up by_ _an_ _intelligent_ _,_ _older man_ _._ It boosted her confidence somehow and made her feel feminine and beautiful in a way she had not felt since Viktor Krum laid eyes on her.

Harry peered through his unruly black fringe at Hermione and noticed that her morning with Lucius Malfoy had given some light to Hermione’s eyes and cheeks that he didn’t like.  
  
“He looked at your legs?” Ron asked in a demanding voice.  
  
“Yes,” Hermione replied shrugging her shoulders. “I’ve got them you know.”  
  
“You should be disgusted,” Ron said. His ears turned pink.  
  
“Hmm, well, at least I haven’t snogged him in front of everybody!”  
  
“I keep telling you, ‘Mione, that I didn’t mean it.”  
  
“For the last time, Ronald, my name is _Her_ mione. Not all of us feel the need to shorten our names,” Hermione said screwing her napkin in a tight ball in anger.

As she had finished her lunch she quickly stood up, threw the napkin on the table, huffed and stormed out of the cafeteria. Her hair flouncing behind her almost crackling with pent-up magic, she was nearly out of the door when...  
  
“Where are you going?” Harry yelled.   
  
“I am going to the foyer,” she replied harshly. “I wish not to be followed.”  
  
Once she was down in the foyer she stopped to look at the fountain statue. Loudly sighing before sinking down on the seat provided, preparing to be splashed. Moments later she felt the presence of someone behind her.  
  
“I told you not to follow me, Harry!”  
  
“I think you should turn around, Miss Granger,” she did and groaned.  
  
“Sorry, sir, I just wanted to look at this beautiful statue,” she said. “There’s nothing like this in the Muggle world.”  
  
Lucius glanced up at the statue, a thing he had taken for granted for most of his working life. She turned around and he saw her wipe a tear or two away from her eyes.  
  
“My grandmother used to say to me whenever I was depressed that a thing of beauty is a joy forever.”  
  
“So it is,” Lucius breathed. He had two beautiful things in his life, but he didn’t feel joyous at knowing them at this moment in time. “Miss Granger, I suggest that you leave at 2:30pm. I owled Madam Malkin to expect you, and I’ll walk you to the apparition point.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr Malfoy,” Hermione said.  
  
“We best head back to the office, once there I will read through your replies, and show you where you’ve set the right tone or sound offensively prim.”  
  
“Mr Malfoy,” Hermione began, “if I do a good job will you be a reference for me?”  
  
“If you do a good job, Miss Granger, I might not let you return to Hogwarts,” he answered smoothly, his eyes were hooded over so she could not see the true expression in them but it did cause her to stop abruptly and stare stupidly at him, her mouth gaping open in absolute shock. It did not take Lucius long to realise that she had stopped walking and turned his head around with his back still turned to her with a tilt of his head examining her reaction to the minutest detail. “How do you feel about that?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.  
  
He smirked then powerfully strode ahead of her, not waiting for her to catch up. She caught up and was soon by his side again. He had stopped a few times to talk to associates. His eyes widened when he spotted someone, and he stepped into the shadows and grabbed her hand and pulled her to him.  
  
“What the...?”  
  
“Umbridge,” he snarled.  
  
“I thought that you two were friends,” she whispered.  
  
“I try not to talk to her as much as I possibly can,” he said. “She’s vile!”  
  
Hermione stifled a giggle. He snaked an arm around her waist and held her fast against his chest. Hermione could hear his heart thumping and she felt the rise and fall of his chest with his steady breathing and his breath fell on the nape of her neck making her shiver. She felt safe in his arms.  
  
“Why are you hiding me?” she asked. “I know how to handle the pink toad.”  
  
Lucius chuckled, and it vibrated through her body. She liked the feel of it playing through her body.  
  
“Yes, I heard all about  _that_  little game,” he murmured, he leant his head down, “I was impressed.”  
  
Hermione sighed as she felt his lip graze against her earlobe.  
  
“I want to tackle her,” she murmured. She turned her head around and their lips clashed against each other.   
  
Umbridge had passed and Lucius reluctantly let her go. He stepped out of the shadow and Hermione followed; she felt as if she had been hit with the jelly legs curse, as she could not steady herself. Her lips were pulsing with the touch of Lucius Malfoys velvet lips on hers.   
  
They were back in the office and he was standing behind his seat. She walked down towards the chair opposite his and sat on it. He stepped elegantly around the chair and Hermione sighed inwardly at the grace he was showing. He was so different from all the other men she knew. She liked that.  
  
He sat down and looked down at the desk; he picked up the pile of her replies. He began the tedious task of reading the first letter. He pointed out what she had done right and the few mistakes she had made. He was impressed over all. Hermione preened herself under his praise; she treacherously thought what he would be like as Potions Master. Snape could learn a thing or two from him.  
  
“That’s it,” Lucius said, “six replies. As these are not urgent I think we can leave them to morning. It’s time for you to get your wardrobe.”  
  
“What if I take them home with me?” Hermione asked.  
  
“No,” he replied. “As long as they are top priority tomorrow morning it doesn’t matter.”  
  
Hermione nodded. She walked to her desk and grabbed a sheet of parchment. She wrote in thick black writing:  
  
**TO DO LIST**  
  
Lucius leant over her shoulder and chuckled again, he liked this already. Hermione wished he wouldn’t chuckle next to her, doesn’t he realise she’s only human?  
  
“I will be prepared to pay for nine work robes and three dress robes, as well as some day wear in case you need to be seen on a casual basis. It is tradition that as my PA you are expected to attend my private functions. I am holding one on Saturday.”  
  
Hermione gulped. She had plans for Saturday... oh well; she hoped her mother would understand.  
  
He took her out of the Ministry and walked her to the apparition point. It was an alley between a second-hand bookshop and a Debenhams store.  
  
“See you tomorrow morning, sir, at half-eight,” she said.   
  
“I think I should come with you,” he said. “I have spent time away from work before.”  
  
“People will think...”  
  
“Let them, we know we’re innocent.”  
  
Hermione shrugged her shoulders. She could not argue with that one. He stepped next to her and apparated with her outside Leaky Cauldron. They walked into the pub nodding to Tom the Barkeep before carrying on through to the back. Lucius used his snake cane on the bricks to get into Diagon Alley.  
  
Lucius left her standing outside Madam Malkins whilst he walked to the Bank to withdraw the cash needed. Nervously, Hermione entered in the shop. Soon she was tremulously explaining to the elderly woman exactly what she needed and why. Madam Malkin’s eyes lit up at the payers name.  
  
Lucius was back with a pouch (or two) filled with glittering galleons. He walked into the shop to find Hermione looking at all the utilitarian colours: black, navy, and greys. The robes in styles he knew she would. He rarely had chance to advise Narcissa as she was raised knowing what she liked. This little witch needed help, so Lucius took it upon himself to show her.  
  
“How old are you?” he asked.  
  
“E-Eighteen,” she stuttered.  
  
“Going on, what? Forty?” Lucius asked. “You might be at work, but you can still look good. Most people who end up together in the Wizarding world meet in the workplace. I suggest you go with some lighter, less severe, colours. We don’t want people thinking you’re related to Snape.”

Hermione smiled shyly. He was disparaging the previous times he had met her, but now he was… was...  
  
“How about this colour?” Madam Malkin suggested. She brought out swatches in various shades of reds, purples, greens and blues.  
  
Lucius smiled. “That’s more like it.”  
  
They had stayed in the shop for hours getting her fitted up. Lucius was looking at a shimmering fabric for some dress robes. Those were going to be a surprise. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but he was finding joy again. He didn’t mind admitting it; he was lonely. He craved company. Hermione Granger might end up being  **more**  than his PA if she played her cards right.  
  



	2. Monday Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione comes home from her rather odd day and Lucius does too. Only there is a stark contrast to their home-coming, Hermione and Fleur bond closer to Molly. Lucius looks back on his marriage and his friendship with Severus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of, sorry for the delay but I have lots of real-life issues to deal with. Secondly, this is a massive 10k long! Thirdly, some of the grammar and spelling may be wrong and I apologise.

**Monday – Continues**

**The Burrow**  
  
She had arrived at the Burrow half-an-hour earlier than Molly had expected. Relief washed over Hermione as she was exhausted, barely managing a bemused smile as she watched Molly rush from the porch where she was standing waiting for her arrival. All it took was the name on the bags, _Madam Malkin_ to get Molly wondering. Ronald had inherited his mother’s questioning look, as subtle as Dumbledore in a buoyant mood. The young witch was only too glad to relinquish the bags and accepted Molly’s outstretched arms as a sign of offering to help. Hermione’s feet throbbed along with her head, her arms ached, and she felt nauseous from Apparating on a near empty stomach.

The shop's tasteful logo glinted in the sunshine: two overlarge bags proudly sported Madam Malkin's initials intertwined at the dip, the sharp angular topsy-turvey zig-zag lines of the M facing different ways to create a sort of 3D effect, could mesmerise a cat with the light play all afternoon. Hermione smiled at the image that was reminiscent of the Art Deco period. Molly’s gasp caught Hermione’s attention, the older witch was clearly dumbstruck, blinking rapidly, it was fair to say that her hostess was shocked was a gross understatement. There was an entire wardrobe Hermione was holding in her dainty hands. Tutting and muttering under her breath waving her arms erratically through the air and huffed – Hermione recognised it immediately as her friend’s mother’s usual: _What’s the world coming too_ , speech. With her last moment of grace for the day, the young woman handed the bag over to the house-wife who then reverentially settled them down on the large family dinner table already being filled with multitudinous dishes on stasis charms.

Hermione’s mouth watered at the scent of various meats and sauces combining together creating a gastronomic cloud of enticing hunger. A problem with huge families meant differing personalities, tastes and appetites. In this respect, Molly held Hermione’s full admiration. Molly could feed an army, knit them woollen garments and darn their socks for them without complaint. A lot of people could learn from her there, yet it was other habits that made Hermione miss her own mother. 

With Helen Granger Hermione could discuss modern sciences alongside politics, weak plots in soaps and her latest guilty pleasure: the television show Friends, in which Chandler made her laugh and Ross just aggravated her. One could not even discuss modern potion techniques with Molly – as she belonged to an Unbroken so Don’t Fix – philosophy.

“I see you spent your lunch hour shopping,” Molly said with a sniff to her tone hinting at disapproval. She would have thought Hermione was above such things.  
  
“No,” Hermione sighed as she moved a few stray coils from her face. “My Mentor for the next two weeks ordered me to acquire some proper clothes.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound like Arthur,” observed Molly as she lifted the lid of a casserole dish, dipping a teaspoon in the sauce and sipped it to taste. “Nor does it sound like the Minister.”  
  
_What I need is a good strong cup of tea inside me_ , Hermione sighed. Molly seemed oblivious to her sudden craving, either that or the woman was waiting to reveal whom it was that her twin sons had a bet on. An old track called Siren’s Kiss played in the background– a track Hermione always tapped her feet and hummed along with before launching into full-bodied singing. Molly smiled softly – Hermione knew her friend’s mother loved her voice. A small thud upstairs indicated someone was awake and Molly’s expression darkened slightly.

“I suppose I should get the kettle on,” she sighed wiping her flour-covered hands on her surprisingly pristine apron.

A gentle shuffle on the stairs drew Hermione’s attention and she craned her neck to see who was here, it was Fleur. When Hermione had got over her crush on Ron, she and Fleur had made great friends. Almost deafening silence pervaded the kitchen whilst they were waiting for the exuberant French witch to make her grand entrance. 

“As I was saying – a shopping trip is not something Arthur would be concerned with and it seems frivolous of the Minister to set you on such an unnecessary errand.” 

Hermione almost spat out the tea she had managed to sip. It was clear that Molly was raised with the idea that politicians were above suspicion and differentiated from the Human Species in wants and needs. The way his eyes had scanned her chest would shock the poor witch. 

 Hermione sighed restraining from rolling her eyes, “Arthur and Rufus are not my Mentors that is why.” 

“Kings…” 

“It is not Kingsley either.” 

“Then who…” Molly had not been able to finish her sentence when Fleur walked in cradling her gravid belly. 

“Ermione, you ‘ad a good day wiz zat ‘andsome Aureur… oui?” 

“I wish,” she muttered. 

“Pour quois?”

“There was another none of the order considered could be my Mentor,” Hermione sighed wiping biscuit crumbs from her chest. Then Fleur spotted the large bags that were sure to be full of clothes.

“Shopping, ‘Ermione, Bill said no one waz to be paid,” she tilted her head as she dipped her finger in the mashed potato making yummy noises as she did so, gratifying Molly in the process. “’ Az the rules changed?“

“My Mentor for the next fortnight ordered me to acquire decent attire,” Hermione made a face in front of her Magic mother and her new friend. “He also…”  
  
“MAGNIFIQUE!” squealed Fleur clapping her hands, her lovely blue eyes widened and sparkled as she could do with Hermione what she used to do for Gabrielle, except Hermione would be the one modelling the robes. “’ Ermione, you look trés fantastique. Such a cute petite skirt, oui.” Then the latest Weasley bride stared at the big shopping bag and giggled with true joy clapping her hands and spun around on her heel excitedly, “but ‘ow can you afford such… a mass?”  
  
Molly’s eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head. Hermione took another sip of tea: “Fleur makes an excellent point,” she conceded. “Has Harry treated you or…” 

“I wish they were a present from Harry,” moaned Hermione as she massaged the temples to tamp down a sharp headache that was forcing its way up.  
  
Sweeping her hand gracefully towards the giant bags, that seemed out of place on the Weasley kitchen table, “Then who did pay for all this?” Molly asked

“Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione groaned. “The Minister took me to his office explaining that I had to meet my Mentor. Moments after settling down I found out why. Before Lunch, he told me that he wants to see me properly attired. This is what he considers properly attired.” 

Molly’s elbow slipped off the table as Hermione said the name of her old school enemy. Fleur only looked confused. 

“Lucius Malfoi?” she said pronouncing the name the French way it used to be once. “In light of Bad Faith, oui?” 

“That’s the one.”

“’ E ‘az lost his wife and son to zat monster ‘ho killed poor Cedric, recently. Is zat not a good theeng you are being supervised by ‘im?”  
  
“My poor child!” Molly exclaimed, forgetting that Hermione wasn’t hers, rushing immediately to the young witch’s side. “Are you all right? Was he horrible? I swear if he so much as touches you, I’ll kill him with my bare hands!”

“I shall join in if he so much as mistreats you, ‘Ermione,” it was then the next Weasley kicked Fleur’s belly, “bébé agrees also!” she laughed.

The huge grin on Hermione’s face lightened up the entire atmosphere: “So it is true. Weasleys do hate Malfoy’s before birth!” she laughed heartily. 

“I mean it, Hermione,” Molly said pointing her forefinger at the giggling witch. “The tiniest strand of hair you possess is so much as _plucked_ from you…”  
  
“Calm down,” Hermione sighed, sliding down the Humour High she was on, and she felt that she had to calm her hostess. Alleviating the worries of various Weasleys seemed to be her speciality – except her touch did not extend to Ron. Before Molly could burn down the precarious house Hermione had to reassure her of the facts. “Relax, Mrs Weasley,” she said as she stood up. The witch had her back turned to her as she was fiddling about with a pendant staring out of her Kitchen windows – the woman’s dark brown pretty eyes – _Ginny’s eyes_. Hermione thought, glistened with the ghost of tears long dead. “I will not end up like Fabian and Gideon, neither will I allow myself to be someone’s living doll – I believe that he has changed. Not so much as a sneer was sent my way from his direction. That word was never said or implied. In fact, Mr Malfoy stated that if… IF… I do a good job as his P.A, he might not let me go back to Hogwarts.”

“Without your N.E.W.T’S you would not be considered a true witch on paper,” Molly said, her voice sounded empty – the pendant twisting round and round the chain, the ghost tears had swollen her vocal cords. Coughing to regain her senses Molly swung on her heel and suddenly grabbed Hermione, holding her fiercely to her body, wrapping both arms tightly about her, kissing the top of Hermione’s head harshly and held onto her as if she would never see her again. “My child, my child, my child…” she kept muttering. “Mine, mine, mine – my child!” 

“Mrs Weasley, Molly, please, you’re frightening me,” Hermione managed to say holding in her breath so she would not choke. “Everything’s fine, all right, Lucius is nothing now. This morning…”

“Baby, my baby, baby witch,” Molly mumbled tightening her hold on Hermione almost strangling her in the process.  

“He is also prepared to pay me twelve silver sickles per hour for the next two weeks at the end of each day, that can’t be bad, can it? Also, remember that he’s bought me all these robes too.”

“No - I must ward you in. Malfoy coming. My baby, my child, mine, mine. Mine.”

With each new muttering, Hermione grew uneasy in Molly’s hold, Fleur had to take action before her in-law could go to Azkaban for assault. Though it would be a first for someone to be jailed due to loving someone to death. Tentatively, Fleur stood at the side of the older, deathly pale witch, she glanced at where Molly’s fingers were and sighed. Blast-Ended Skrewt she could handle, trying to prise Molly away from a hug was something else entirely.

Using all the strength she could Hermione gestured over to the packages in an effort to snap the witch out of it. “How many has he done this to…my child… you?” suddenly Hermione was snatched out of Molly’s arms by Fleur. “Laying there in-between – you were always so curious, so beautiful – you even inherited her hair – you were just over 2. Squirming and snuffling, your thumb in your mouth… Her hair and eyes but thankfully his brains and nose – but…” the young witch watched as Molly folded in on herself and sank to her knees sobbing, “Such a lovely bright beauty you were my darling.”

This held both young witches in a state of confusion, Molly never broke down, except that once when they were cleaning Grimmauld Place when Arthur found her sobbing over the deaths of all her children and she had to be pulled away from the strong boggart, who rotated through the various Weasleys – though looking back Hermione was certain she saw the faces of a few others and a young girl that even Arthur turned white at the sight of.

“We should depart, ‘Ermione,” Fleur whispered, “come show me what zis Monsieur Malfoi looks like.”

Startled at the scene it took all of Fleur’s strength to manoeuvre Hermione out of the kitchen towards the stairs with the bags floating in front of them. Had Hermione been in a normal state of mind she would have scolded Fleur for using magic in her delicate condition. When they were in Bill’s old room, Hermione finally came too with the smart snap of the door.

“’ Ow much did Monsieur Malfoi purchase, ‘Ermione?” she gasped in awe as each box and bag returned to normal size. “Zere ees enough ere to clothe a small Provence, I zink.”

“I tried to tell him I was not worth the effort,” she sighed crashed down on the bed fatigued after her first day of work and the pampering after it.

“ _Zut Alors_!” Fleur exclaimed passionately. “Everyone is worthy of ze pamper and ze man is rich, oui?” 

“Oui, but…”

“Non, non, non, you ‘Ermione, our brave girl who can fight ze Nazi blindfold wiz one ‘and tied be’ind ‘er back – zat beautiful girl ‘ho broke a champion’s ‘eart and can eat a man for breakfast you can do and be anyzing you wish. All women deserve pampering.”

 Astonished at how passionately Fleur defended her Hermione sat there her mouth agape blinking through her befuddled mind. All it took for her to assert her normality was the sight of Fleur taking out a light lavender and plum robes and her companions gasp of admiration of the classic style with a modern twist. Shaking out the dust and cobwebs of her flustered mind, Hermione was able to finally join in the conversation.

“One set of work robes of which that is one example, for each day with shoes and jewellery to match,” Hermione answered. “There are also six sets of dress robes, he states that as his P.A, I should attend any private function he holds so I look just so for each event.”  
  
“I am not acquainted with Monsieur Malfoi,” her intentions clear when she sat next to Hermione, “what er, what does he look like?”

“At least a foot taller than I,” Hermione replied, “long flowing blond hair that is like a waterfall flowing down his back. Aristocratic patrician features, straight nose and wide thunderstorm eyes and set of thin but beautiful lips. Adonis in velvet and silk with a steel resolve and a firm jaw.” 

“Sounds like you notice a lot about ‘im,”  Fleur observed with a sly glance she also spotted how the younger witch’s cheeks pinked as Hermione nodded. “Ze name does sound familiar, do I know it from...?”

“His son was in our year at school. You remember Draco the boy who kept spreading horrible gossip about Harry, Viktor and I – the one who created the _‘Potter Stinks’_ badges…”

“Oh, ‘im. Ze one turned into a Ferret by ze grumpy man oui?”

“Oui, Fleur, that was him. Well, imagine that boy as older and ten times as gorgeous.”

“Ronald will be upset,” Fleur sighed “but you ‘Ermione are destined for bigger prey zan Ronald. Sweet little boy he is, he needs a woman who will dote on him all hours of ze day – You, ‘owever, needs a wizard who will dote on you all hours of the day and ‘as the money and power to do so.”

“I do not need a control freak, Fleur, that man did not let me make a single choice. I wanted one style; he chose another, and, because he is rich and paying, Madam Malkin took his choice against mine!” Now she was in full rant. “He even picked out the colours and stood there watching me get prodded, pinned and fitted.” Hermione creased her brow as she continued yelling at the smirking witch still sat on the bed – Fleur’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You would’ve thought he would have had better things to do, wouldn’t you?”  
  
Fleur sighed. “I suppose ‘e feels that as ‘e’s lost ‘is wife and son zat all ze importance ‘as gone out of ‘is life. Per’aps ‘e is a man ‘ho needs to spoil an exquisite witch, per’aps ‘e is looking for someone else now.”

Unladylike though her action was Hermione snorted and took a chance to glance into the mirror: “I’m not going to be his – one can paint a sow all kinds of colours, but she will still look like a pig.” Her eyes swept down her reflected self. “Why would he go to that effort to make me what I’m not?”

In the mirror's reflection, Hermione saw Fleur stand up from the bed, cradling her stomach as she did so. When the French Witch was behind Hermione, Fleur pulled Hermione’s hair back revealing all of her features.

“I do not see a sow,” she whispered in Hermione’s ear. “I see a beautiful young woman ‘ho can fight and retreat, a young woman who presents a strong face but is also able to cry. I see a young woman who is vulnerable yet strong. Clever, thoughtful, kind and wishes to be nothing but good and kind – you ‘Ermione, are truly wonderful. Monsieur Malfoi obviously sees all of zat and wishes to ‘elp you see zat and desire to make you more!”

“He said I was a Witch and should dress like one,” Hermione replied her lip wobbling, threatening to cry in this elegant woman’s defence of her. Fleur noticed a slight tinge adorning the younger woman’s cheeks.

Just as Fleur was about to answer her friend, the door opened, and Molly walked in, she had managed to recover from her daze as she entered the room with a cheerful smile, her apple cheeks smudged with flour and tear tracks.

“My goodness me, one thing to say for him – he’s certainly no miser is he?” 

“He feels I looked too muggle or something,” she glared at her mirror self, “I mean there’s nothing wrong with this, is there? My own mother chose this and said I looked respectable with my usually overprotective father smiling proudly when I said goodbye.”

“Let’s have a look at you, dear,” Molly said as she stepped further into the room. Once she was closer Hermione smiled as she watched Molly check the length of the skirt. Shortly after Molly’s dark eyes sparkled and met Hermione’s as realisation dawned on the true reason why Lucius had this problem with his intern’s outfit. “Ah, yes, I can see now, simple really, he’s a leg man. Always liked a shapely pair of slender legs. Definitely, your legs were the problem. He probably felt tempted which is why he wants them covered up so that he can’t be. You do have good legs, Hermione.”  
  
Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully, although embarrassed as she was forced to ask the next question. “What do you mean by leg man?” she asked.  
  
“Some men like breasts, some men like bottoms and some men like legs,” Molly explained. “It is the part that first attracts someone to you.” Fleur giggled as she whispered in Hermione’s ear that Bill was also a leg man. “Lucius is a leg man, that was why he married Narcissa rather than Bellatrix. For another example, Arthur is a breast man.”  
  
Fleur and Hermione shared equal minuscule glances of disgust whilst Molly was distracted, at the older witch’s openness about her husband’s preferences. As far as Molly was concerned she looked as if she had said nothing wrong whilst she zapped the clothing to Percy’s old room – now given to Hermione – and glanced around the room to see if there was a speck of dust that needed to be eradicated. For their part, Hermione and Fleur knew they would not be able to look Arthur Weasley seriously in the face again.   
  
The three witches jumped when they heard a boisterous _slam_ from down below, announcing the arrival of at least Arthur and Ron. Hermione had just recovered from that bout of shock when another deep voice bellowed a greeting. It was only Fleur who noticed the immediate effect the sound had on her friend, jesting her with a mock flirtatious wink and a silent girly giggle. Hermione flushed deep red before rolling her eyes as they all trooped down to greet their friends and family.

Kingsley Shacklebolt decided it was his responsibility to deposit Harry back at _The Burrow_. The fact that he had made sure Hermione would be there when he saw Lucius come back alone had nothing to do with it. His composure faltered when Hermione showed up, in fact, Fleur noticed his hulking frame shuffle uncomfortably as he blushed.

Another had spotted Kingsley’s attitude change when Hermione stepped into the room. Tilting his head Harry seemed to weigh Kingsley’s motivations...  then he studied Hermione’s own reaction to the Auror, the flush was now staining her neck. _She is pretty_ , he thought, _prettier than she had ever been;_ and that included the Yule Ball. Ginny Weasley was perfection as far as Harry Potter was concerned he had no reason to look at Hermione other than a brother does his sister but still, today, Hermione was beautiful.

“Hello, Hermione,” he finally said.

Twiddling her fingers in her skirt and gulping Hermione managed to meet his dark promising gaze: “He-hello Kingsley,” she almost curtsied in her shyness.

Tension pervaded the atmosphere as no one found they could speak as they watched Hermione and Kingsley gaze at each other. What their unintentional audience were waiting for neither knew as the green flames burst forth from the fire-place and two cheeky young identical boys stumbled into the scene. Knocking first into Ron, who toppled forward into Harry who thumped into Kingsley’s side which had the big bashful man tumble into Hermione who fell to the floor with him on top of her.

Immediately Arthur and Harry rushed to help the Auror up to free Hermione. Fleur and Ron were the ones who assisted Hermione and Fleur spotted a look on Hermione’s face. She wore the sort of expression that did not mind in the least, in fact, in other circumstances that would have been _most welcome thank you so much_!

Once dignity was restored, Kingsley bowed in acknowledgement to Molly who looked as if she was about to give him enough food to last him an entire week. To Hermione, he mumbled _sorry and hoped she was not hurt_ before he made his escape.

Hermione giggled, which shocked Harry and Ron and astonished them further when she spoke.

“I wonder what sort of a man he is?” she asked out loud.

_In a silent answer_ , Fleur thought, _he’s also a leg man;_ considering that is where his gaze landed on her friend's body in many subtle ways.  
  
“There’s only one way to find out,” Fleur responded with a bit of mischief in her tone, “he wanted to talk more to you,” she whispered in Hermione’s ear. “’Is reactions to you proves to me zat you are not a sow but the silken purse.”  
  
On the other hand, Harry tried to find the idea of a man realising Hermione as sexual at all rather insulting – he decided she needed a gallant brother’s attention. A tick in his jaw muscle showed Hermione, when she finally took notice of him, clearly that he was in a: _We’ll talk about this later_ , his emerald eyes blazing at her in his newfound role with her. 

“When did you get back, Hermione?” he asked taking hold of her hand and raising it to his lips to kiss the way he had been told to do with witches. It was demonstrated by Ginny and Bill one-day. “Where did you go after lunch, I was worried about you after you went off on your own, and we did not see you in the afternoon coffee break.”  
  
“About half-an-hour ago,” Hermione replied stiffly reclaiming her hand from Harry’s grip. “Mr Malfoy had an errand to run so I went with him as part of my training,” she lied as she did not think neither of her close friends would understand the shopping trip the way that Fleur or Molly did. “So, what was your day like?”  
  
“Fun,” Harry moaned as he sank into the nearest chair. “Apparently I need to work on my Potions. All day I kept hearing from Kingsley that if _only Snape were here_... Don’t people get that he _killed_ Dumbledore for crying out loud.”  
  
“Don’t  _you_  get that he is still an intelligent, _clever_ , wizard. One that we might actually need?” Hermione argued back. This was their only re-ocurring squabble. Harry kept insisting Snape was a Dark Lord in waiting whilst she kept insisting there was more to the situation that met the eye. “Why would Dumbledore, who defeated Grindelwald, allow himself to be killed by Professor Snape when he was the most powerful wizard already. No, I keep going over what you told me and there is something itching my brain that I cannot remember – and when I do I shall even write an essay on why I feel Professor Snape is not evil and why that is too strong a word!”  
  
Harry grumbled He turned around and was just about to ask what they were when a voice roared:  
  
“Bloody hell!”  
  
Hermione turned around. Ron and Arthur had gone upstairs, and Ron had taken to peeking in her room at odd times for some reason. Arthur entered the kitchen to peck his wife on her cheek when Ron had changed into comfortable non-Ministry clothing.

“Those bags in your room, Hermione?” Arthur asked feeling he was better suited to sort this out.

“Suitable attire for Lucius Malfoy’s P.A,” Hermione replied now far too tired to defend herself or her Mentor’s actions. “Paid for by the man himself.”  
  
Molly pecked her husband on the cheek and hugged her son. She then went upstairs to tidy away the bags and boxes from her adopted daughter’s bed and flicked her wand at them so that she could organise them in Hermione’s room.  
  
“So,” Arthur said to Hermione whilst he took his outer robes off and hung them up on a hook by the kitchen door. “He hasn’t made you cry yet?”  
  
“No, and I wish you would realise that he’s different now,” Hermione defended Lucius warmly. “Losing his wife and child does that for any man. Draco was his chance at carrying on the Malfoy name. Now he has nobody to do so.”

“No legitimate heirs anyway,” said Fred waggling his eyebrows. “Plenty of bastards from what I hear on the street corners.”

“Frederick Fabian Weasley, do not dare to swear in my presence again,” scolded Molly hitting him on top of the head. Since an explosion in their labs had sliced George’s ear off it was easy to tell them apart. Much to the twins' chagrin as they could no longer confuse their own mother with the HE’S FRED game. “Also why are you hanging out on any street corners I’d like to know?”

The twins became uncharacteristically silent at that question. Neither could exactly inform their mother of their Friday night activities. Shuffling in their seats as Molly’s sharp gaze burned deep into their brains affecting their consciences. Ron frowned in confusion; Fleur also disapproved of her brother-in-law’s activities, so when George tried to seek redemption through her, she managed to eerily mirror their mother in the guilt trip. Harry smirked into his napkin whilst Hermione rolled her eyes disapproving and admiring at the same time. It was Arthur who brought the conversation back to where it started.

“Hermione, we worry because we care for you.”  
  
Hermione sighed. She knew that they cared for her, worried about her, the fact that her name appeared on the Weasley clock after the fifth year was proof she was a part of the Weasley family now. That was when she realised that having a relationship with Ron would be too close to incest than she was comfortable with, even if Ron had not quite seen it that way. It’s just that… well… she wished that they didn’t _care_ for her so damn much!   
  
“I know that Arthur, and I am grateful, and I care about you all in return. I’m a big girl now and can take care of myself,” her lashes lowered though she kept her tone even and clear, so everyone could hear what she was saying, “I just like to give people the benefit of the doubt – I like to believe in innocent until proved guilty. I am never going to belong to the: _Once a criminal always a criminal_ , school of thought. Put yourself in his shoes, he has a big Manor, money to burn, prestige and position but the two greatest treasures he owned he can never get back has been cruelly ripped from him by people he put his trust in.”

“That does not mean you have to defend his every action,” Harry responded. “As much as it pains you, but I had to view Penseive memories and Malfoy was bought up on quite a few charges of sexual congress of past secretaries.”

“I’m not saying he is a saint, Harry,” Hermione’s voice had risen, and her face flared red as it did so when she felt personally attacked. “Hate to break this to you but bosses having affairs with secretaries is a part of life, though I can guarantee that he would not look twice at me.” No one noticed Fleur groan into her hands. Monsieur Malfoi had every intention of seducing her friend. “All I did today was handle the responsibility of answering his mail using my own words. Yes, he thoroughly checked through them and pointed out what I had done right, and what I had done wrong. Nothing improper happened between us. In fact, the first job tomorrow is to rewrite them using his corrections.”

“Sounds like homework,” Ron muttered.  
  
“You’re forgetting that I don’t mind homework,” Hermione responded cheekily a genuine smile played at the corner of her lips revealing her sweet dimples that secretly made Ron weak at the knees and made him want to do anything to earn that same smile again. “Anyway, he walked in on my choosing the garments and he stopped me buying blacks, navies and greys. He said he didn’t think that I was eighteen going on forty, and he also said that I should make the most of myself as I might meet prospective husbands. No,” she snapped when Ron looked as if he was going to snarl a reply, “he did not include himself in that category.”  
   
“I’ll say this for him,” she sighed. “He has style.”  
  
Hermione tried not to giggle at the dewy-eyed expression on Molly’s face. “Which one is your favourite, Fleur?

“I cannot wait to zee ze green ones on you, ‘Ermione!” Fleur cried excitedly. “Ze colour will bring out your gorgeous eyes.”  
  
“I do so love the mint green ones,” Hermione sighed. The accoutrements were going to be heaven to flaunt. “I wonder though if he’ll expect me to keep them when this fortnight is over with?”  
  
Both Fleur and Molly blinked in shock and simultaneously said:  “Why wouldn’t he?”  
  
“Well, what if at the end of two weeks he expects me to hand them back?”  
  
Molly laughed. “What an absurd thing to say. Lucius Malfoy is not one to waste money frivolously. Did he ask those kids in Slytherin to give him back those broomsticks?”  
  
“Not that I know of,” Hermione mumbled. She felt a little awkward still at accepting the robes. She felt that that should have been her parent’s responsibility to provide her with a wardrobe.  
  
“He won’t expect them back,” Arthur said, his eyes hardened as he contemplated his all but paper-adopted daughter. “Do not take this the wrong way, Hermione,” a statement that immediately caused her to bristle and Harry could swear he spotted her hair stand up on end. “Why did he purchase you an entire wardrobe in the first place if his intentions were clear.”  
  
“He bought them because my legs distracted him.” 

Hermione said calmly not batting an eyelid as she dropped that confession, her blithe manner stunned everyone gathered. Eyes glinting with logic Hermione inspected her legs, twisting them at all angles. Harry ignored them; content as he was with Ginny. Ron was busy eating so did not follow her gaze, but the twins did. Predicting they could create a little scandal further down the line. Instead, Fred’s mouth dried as his eyes swept up and down in a lethargic manner. George felt his twin’s attraction and gazed longingly at her chest.

Briefly, just to understand Hermione’s statement, Arthur looked at her legs too. Understanding suddenly appeared in his brown eyes. Instead of finding it funny like his wife he found it immoral.

“I do hope there was another, less salacious reason,” he growled. Again, Hermione swore she saw Arthur’s form blur into a bear. “He has no business looking at any portion of you – let alone your legs.”

“Well,” Hermione shuffled in her seat as she cut up a piece of well-cooked beef. “He also said that I should dress like a Witch.”  
  
The invisible bear shimmered from view and disappeared from her sight as Arthur had calmed down at this last statement.

Whilst Harry and Hermione had taken the chores of cleaning up after the massive family dinner, another flash of green bathed the room in its beautifully eerie glow. “Anyone there?” a voice queried. Immediately, Harry dropped the towel and rushed to the fireplace to speak to his girlfriend. Hermione was able to wave before Harry told her to leave so they could have a private conversation. Something that Hermione was glad to do. She had no desire to see her brother go all mushy on her. Ginny poked her head through the fireplace.

Hermione had not left in time to watch them kiss with her heart beating fast for them. A small smile curved along her lips as she reminisced what had transpired at the start of that school year. Literally, she had thumped Harry on his head with a large tome when he confessed that he had dumped Ginny for her own protection. Then she lectured him so much so that eventually Harry got so fed up with her nagging that he sought Ginny out and deliberately kissed her warmly in front of the whole school. If he wanted to disgust Hermione with that overt public display he failed to do so. In fact, Hermione folded her arms and smugly smirked … after that, she almost felt as if she had completed some kind of task that was entrusted unknowingly to her.  
  
Later that evening Ginny had run up to her gushing gleefully about being back together. The light of love burned brightly in her younger friend’s expressive brown eyes. They had concocted the plan to get Harry to realise what an ass he was. Unfortunately, Harry overheard the two girls as they patted each other on the back and wanted an immediate explanation. So, they confessed their plan to him, irritation flickered in his green eyes a small tick in his jaw showed how he had to keep his anger in check when Hermione shyly told him that they concocted the scheme for her to nag him until he could bear it no longer, spurring him on to do something about it as the consensus of opinion amongst the DA was that he should stop being so bloody noble and get laid; whilst Ginny’s defence was that she had accepted the risk when she said hello to him as a child. Suffice it to say that the next DA meeting went a lot more smoothly, when this was pointed out to him Harry muttered something about _women_ leaving the scene in a huff as the silvery sounds of  Hermione and Ginny’s laughter followed him out of the room.

A few weeks later, Harry and Ginny’s lack of presence on the Hogsmeade’s trip were duly noted. Seamus had to comfort a still heartbroken Dean Thomas in one booth in the Broomsticks whilst Ron squirmed uncomfortably in his seat knowing exactly what his best friend and only sister were up to. When they returned back to the castle Ginny hugged Hermione tightly and whispered an enthusiastic thank-you. It was when she let go Hermione noticed Ginny had her shirt buttoned up wrong, no bra, and skirt the wrong way around. Harry grinned widely and enthusiastically thanked Hermione for the next day! He had a lot to grin about as he had made love to the love of his life the result of which was his first happy dream.

Hermione sank down against the wall separating the kitchen and the living room as her mind drifted over the events from September the first to now. Grimacing at her recollection of how briefly she and Ron had tried dating in sporadic spurts. Her duties as a Head Girl divided her time considerably. Seemingly every time she thought that they could spend some time together alone; Professor Slughorn needed her for this, or Headmistress McGonagall needed her for that.

Even the Head Boy, Blaise Zabini, interrupted at particularly steamy occasions as if he had his own version of the Marauders Map as he knew exactly where they were and when they were going to be there. It did not take long for Ron to be understandably annoyed with the constant stream of interruption and having to share Hermione with so many people that one day, after a bad Quidditch practice he stormed into the Gryffindor Common Room; grabbing the first girl he could. The frustration he vented on the startled witch had broken Hermione’s heart. The object of his affection, Parvati Patil, was too dumbstruck to resist.

After his treacherous kiss, he told Hermione he held no desire to continue their so-called relationship. Her heart now crushed and humiliated again in front of the whole common room Hermione turned and fled, her beetroot red face, swollen eyes from the heat of her tears she had no control over where she was headed. Too late, she growled as she recalled the moment of finding herself outside the Room of Requirement.

At some great emotional cost, Hermione found she was being followed. Blaise Zabini was hiding in an alcove when he spotted her. Silently, the Head Boy followed her into the Room of Requirement after hearing his quarry’s wish.

Her weakened emotional state had allowed him to seduce her thoroughly. The Room provided a huge bed they soon learnt the geography of in various positions as they rutted like a deer in the heat of the rut. Hermione woke up the next morning: alone, cold, and used. After that night she was no longer the object of the fierce attentions of Blaise Zabini. She had patched things up with Ron; on one condition that they would never try to date each other again. It was too painful. Ron had been successfully dating Parvati since, although Hermione felt awkward around her.

Harry was oblivious to all this as he had his sights on Horcruxes and Ginny. Both took his attention and time away from his other responsibilities. He had even given up Quidditch to free up more time to be the Chosen One!  
  
Hermione hadn’t told anyone that she had a one-night stand with Hogwarts answer to Casanova. She felt it was nobody’s business but her own. It was clear that Blaise had not felt the same way; Pansy Parkinson was often caught sniggering in her direction, pointedly looping her arm through his, smirking smugly, her cunning dark eyes sparkled icily towards Hermione stating one simple fact through her possessive actions... He’s mine!

Another Slytherin, one with auburn hair and eyes too kind to be in that house, gazed at her with pity, in Potions later that day the girl sidled up to her and apologised for her house-mates appalling behaviour, introducing herself as Daphne Greengrass and could they possibly be friends.  
  
A sudden desire to be alone overwhelmed her, so Hermione trudged up the stairs to her room, besides she’d had all those robes to tidy away. Her shock as she walked into her bedroom showed as she noticed that they were hanging up in multicoloured row neatly into her wardrobe, her jewellery organised on her beauty station, all her shoe boxes were packed under her bed with the colours and styles written up on the lids. She knew it was no one from downstairs as they were there all the time. This would have taken a good two hours. Of course, there were only two explanations; Molly or house-elves. Only Lucius Malfoy could have ordered one to come here and tidy up. Now that she had time to breathe and take time for herself Hermione stroked the fine materials of the robes. The daywear, she observed, had been separated from the Dress Wear and – she blushed, he must have ordered those without her looking – negligee sets for bed in matching hues of the day robes. _Tomorrow_ , she decided, _I need to have a firm word with Lucius, just because he had money to spend it does not mean that I have to be the main recipient._

The fabric shimmered as she nudged one set to look at another, one or two seemed to whisper for her to try them on. Admitting only to herself that she loved the light pastels that he had chosen. A lilac and royal purple set spoke louder than the rest and she took the champagne velvet hangers provided by Madam Malkins to hang her clothes on, humming as she carried it over to the floor to ceiling mirror that was installed the moment Hermione had claimed the room for her own, she set the robes at an angle across her body: “ _Finally I have an owner with a sense of style_ ,” her reflection said back, “ _so gorgeous you can almost hear the robes sing can you not?_ ”

“I can,” Hermione said. Remembering the argument she’d carried with Lucius when he insisted on silk, her counter to that remark was that silk was too fine for work. His reaction to that was to remove his jacket off, taking her hand and directing it to his tunic sleeve.

“I wear silk to work so why should she not?”  
  
Death changed people, that simple fact Hermione knew, yet she was unprepared for this remarkable generosity. All that day, Hermione had puzzled in her mind how to behave around this side of Lucius Malfoy. Almost preferring Lucius Malfoy from the Department of Mysteries; that side of Malfoy she could handle. This angle, however, confounded her sensibilities and worldview. If Hermione, had not seen a smidgeon of Lucius Malfoy the generous benefactor in her second year she would have felt she had unwittingly walked into the twilight zone. Why did he have to be so damn multi-faceted?  
  
With a gentle sigh and a slight shoulder slump, Hermione placed the garment back in the wardrobe. Next up to view was a graceful pair – a hunter’s green dress and contrasting mint green outer robes – they were simply divine and brought out the gold flecks in her eyes. Yawning with exhaustion Hermione placed the second set back in the cupboard. Her mind went over the heated conversation concerning what she considered an unnecessary accessory as black went with everything right? Surely her kitten-heeled Mary Janes were sufficient?  
  
_“But, Mr Malfoy, no one will be looking at my feet.”_  
  
“Who told you that?” Malfoy had asked tilting his head.  
  
“My dad, when he bought me a pair of shoes I hated.”  
  
“Your father, if you do not mind my saying so, is an idiot. You are scrutinized thoroughly at the Ministry: From your hair to your toes, oh and that reminds me; you have to have your nails done. Your hair, as long as it is clipped back, is all right but I would suggest some time in a salon this week.”  
  
“Who is the secretary here?” Hermione snapped. She immediately wished she had not, his temper was legendary!

_However, all he did was smirk as he coolly replied: “For the moment I am as I am supposed to be training you.”_

_“I organise two teenage boys on a daily basis,” she humphed back her hands folded under her breasts._  
  
“Put it down on your To Do List,” he answered back smartly.  
  
Hermione laughed. He had a point; he was only trying to help after all.  
  
“But matching shoes?” Hermione gasped “what are you hiding behind your back?”  
  
“Yes,” he replied. “Matching shoes! Jewellery too, accessorising is an art form in itself.”  
  
Magic truly was wonderful; she had informed Malfoy, her voice filled with wonder and amazement that, in the Muggle World, this would take days; maybe weeks. Malfoy smirked smugly at that. 

**~*~*~**  


**Malfoy Manor**

When Lucius Malfoy had returned home, the first thing he did was order Chipsy, a teenage house-elf in training, for her first secretive assignment. When the elf returned from her mission she reported that all was well apart from all the noises that the family made had given her a headache. Ordering minute secretive operatives aside, he still couldn’t fathom why he bothered to come home to this overlarge old mansion filled with angry ancestors. Every room smelled of nostalgia and Narcissa’s perfume.

After the rather enjoyable shopping spree, Lucius decided to return to his office to see to some parts of the job he could not train Hermione in. Magical Relations sometimes had a cross-over in the Auror department and there were disturbing reports of a gang going around picking on inter-racial couples. Those that had been attacked composed of Caucasian females and black males. Some muggleborn and half-blood couples found themselves at the wrong end of this manipulative gang’s anger. Some had been murdered by the muggle guns.

Kingsley had told him to prepare to meet more muggle relatives in the days to come as the Muggle police – Scotland Yard – spent some hours researching the files to send over to the Auror’s for them to read thoroughly and digest. As an ex Death-Eater, he felt he should be able to stomach some of the details in the muggle photographs; of the bruising and scarring found on the women, traces of rape and other profane acts. Yet, one looked like Hermione and that was when he’d almost choked on his own bile.

The unfinished letters tantalised him – tempting him to complete them to take his mind off his loneliness. It was the image of Hermione’s crestfallen expression that stopped him in his tracks. She seemed eager to please and he wished to see her beam and shine rather than dull and grubby. The old Lucius would have tried to explore her limits, of how far she’d go to please him. The new Lucius was quite happy with the way things were – sort of – she did have a marvellous pair of legs.  
  
With how light-hearted he felt at Madam Malkin’s Lucius knew what was missing from his life; someone to spoil and lavish his attention on. He hadn’t had as much fun since he and Narcissa were newlyweds. She always insisted that he be with her when she was buying robes as she was also eager to please him, and she didn’t know if he’d be pleased if he wasn’t there to show his pleasure. To say that it bored him would be an understatement. Often finding himself awkwardly phasing out as the clothier and Narcissa waxed lyrical about this style versus that, this shade of white versus that, the sheer tediousness of it all ended with him daydreaming over a quiet afternoon with Severus instead. He soon changed his mind, however, as he realised she was giving him full control over what she wore and how she looked. She was his to mould, shape and carve.   
  
He had supposed, at first, that Narcissa was a stupid wench that could not tie her own shoelace without his permission. But the blow to his ego fell when Draco was born. Suddenly it was Narcissa that was in charge; it was Narcissa that made all the decisions. Narcissa wanted Draco to go to Hogwarts; so, Draco went to Hogwarts. Narcissa decided whom to dine with, and who to have as dinner guests. It was Narcissa that decided exactly what fitted her, and what suited her. Leaving Lucius to have his Saturday afternoons with Severus. Thus the indiscretions and affairs began.

No one could deny that Lucius Malfoy loved his wife dearly even with all the affairs and steamy encounters.  Licentious Lucius soon gained a reputation and many pitied Narcissa, but she was always aware of his misdeeds. Sometimes she had her own lovers waiting in the shadowy corners of whatever home they found themselves in. Their marriage was far from perfect, but he loved her and sorely missed her.

Resting on a little shelf in the welcoming hall, stood his favourite photograph of his little family when they were younger, and happier after Potter had seemingly laid waste to the Dark Lord. Uncategorically the eighties had become his favourite decade due to the sheer weightlessness he felt without the Dark Lord to hang a shadow over them. How utterly foolish he had been when he tried to urge Narcissa to tarnish her beautiful skin with the Mark, thank goodness she had screwed her stiletto’s into the toe of his foot as a firm response to the negative. Not learning from that particular lesson he had brainwashed his precious only child to join the fray and Draco had gained the Mark and lost his life. He stroked their laughing faces his heart aching with guilt.  
  
“I have failed the both of you.”  
  
Reverently, Lucius placed the photograph back on the little table and fully entered his home. 

It wasn’t just Narcissa and Draco he had failed either. In a moment of compassion, he took a young boy by the name of Severus Snape under his wing and introduced him to the scum of the earth and dragged the poor wretch down. He had failed the only person he considered good enough to be a younger brother.  
  
Throwing his cloak off and pulling his hands free of lambskin gloves Lucius left his clothing there for an elf to pick up and put away. There was only one destination he desired to be at this maudlin moment in time; that was the portrait of his wife next to the bedroom. Taking the staircase two at a time chasing away the flashes of Hermione’s insecure little smile taunting him.

He could not help but stare at her legs. All men had their peculiarities and his happened to be women’s legs, and she had the best pair he had seen since Narcissa. In some ways she was much like Narcissa had been when they were first married. A blank canvas ready and primed for his soft brush strokes to fill and define her. Immediately, she held enormous potential to be more than his P.A. A little refinement never hurt anyone, all she required was a touch of confidence, her thinking sharpened, and taught the true value of being a witch. With his guidance and training, she could reach the vaunted position of Minister, with him by her side as Advisor. For this, she needed to establish her authority and stamp her personality firmly on every wall in the Ministry.  
  
She had the bright sunny exuberance of youth, the eagerness to learn. Warm qualities such as empathy, compassion and loyalty would draw the masses like bees to pollen. Damn! He’d been waiting for a P.A like her to come his way for a long, long time. Why she was not placed in Ravenclaw irked him, as she seemed to be more suited to the house of the Eagle rather than the Lion.

The fact that she seemed to forget that she was young bothered Lucius. He was forced to grow old quickly, never able to rebel, or have wild parties, hell he’d never been to a rock concert. Abraxas would only allow him to attend recitals and the opera; he never had the chance of a proper youth as his mother died when he was just eight years old. A natural born businessman Abraxas may have been but an instinctive parent he was not, Abraxas had lived long enough to see Draco receive the letter then he contracted Dragon Pox; his death swift and sure. Right from the moment his mother passed away his father literally beat into him the secrets of Malfoy Manor, how to manage and micro-manage, delegation, who to call for restoration if needed and how to see deceits and lies. In short, Lucius had to be mini-Abraxas.

In that regard, he actually felt sympathy for Potter having to hold the entire weight of the wizarding world’s fate on his slim shoulders. Lucius had sworn the moment Draco had died that he would seek vengeance. To do that he had to worm his way into the Order. The only person big on second chances aside from Albus was young Miss Granger. Once he gained her complete trust she would surely convince Potter enough to train him in the use of some dark grey spells for when the showdown happened.  
  
“I must be desperate,” he snorted. “If I’m beginning to think of training Potter!”  
  
He fairly rarely ate despite the number of hearty lunches at the Ministry. _Hmm_ , that is a point to consider, he should be seen with his P.A in the _other_ lunching area. The one that the Minister and Heads of various departments lunched in. There was no way any future spouse of Lucius Malfoy should be seen dead in that horrific unsavoury place.

_Spouse_? As in _wife_? Don’t go there Lucius Malfoy! You’ve only known the witch for a day, and already you’re thinking of marrying her? He needed to get out and socialise more. That was the main reason for the _soirée_ that he was planning for Saturday. It was to prove to the world that Lucius Malfoy was managing perfectly all right without Narcissa.

Personally, he had convinced himself that he was managing perfectly well without Narcissa. Yet he had spotted the pitiful glances sent his way. The rich widows smiling like sharks as they swarmed around him waiting to warm his bed and pinch from his purse. Young witches batting their eyelashes and giggling flirtatiously as he swept by hoping to seduce him and gain a child from the liaison to force him in marriage.

All their efforts gone to waste as all that needed to happen to revitalise him was Hermione Granger walking into his office in that tight-fitting pencil skirt and black sandals. Shaking his head in an effort to dislodge that image from his mind; knowing that if he _did_ make a move on her she’d be disgusted, he stopped to look over the bannister to contemplate this thought.

He couldn’t make her do something against her own will or even feel things she didn’t want to feel.  _Besides_ , he growled to himself,  _she’s probably with Weasley’s brat._  
  
The thought of that irked him rather. What any right-minded girl could see anything in that young dolt? Like his father Lucius could see that the boy had the ambition of a sloth with matching intelligence. With careful financing and lacking children, he’d probably be only slightly richer than Arthur. Weasleys bred well, like the rodent that makes a part of their name. The poor girl would have more children than galleons. Hermione deserved more than to be a broodmare for Ronald Weasley.  
  
With an extra bounce in his step as he decided to save the young witch from a fate worse than poverty, Lucius continued to walk upstairs suddenly feeling the urge to have a long hot bath and go to bed, after he spoke to his late wife. Tomorrow was going to be a tiring day of resisting urges that he normally would satisfy so as not to frighten the young woman.  
  
“So,” Narcissa sighed smoothing down the front of her dress as she stood up from her favourite salmon pink satin chair she posed on for the portrait. “How’s your day been?”  
  
“Fine, darling,” Lucius said leaning against the wall the opposite side of the portrait. Standing in his favourite rakish pose to make her giggle. “The Work Experience Program I told you about has started this year. I have Hermione Granger as my P.A for the next two weeks.”  
  
“Good!” Narcissa’s approval glowed through the iridescent oils of her portrait. “She’s the young girl that Draco rather liked isn’t she?”  
  
“Yes, she is, but I am not going to tell her that.”  
  
“If she’s any sort of woman she’d know anyway,” observed Narcissa.  “Sometimes I wished I wore my green and silver set for this portrait.”  
  
Lucius smiled,  “You look lovely, darling.”  
  
“It’s a shame we never got round to painting Draco.”  
  
“He never reached the age to sit for one,” Lucius replied with regret tinting his voice.  
  
“Have you eaten today?” Narcissa asked primly.  
  
“Damn, woman, you are dead, and yet you’re still nagging me.”  
  
“I still care for you, Lucius; you need looking after you know that.”  
  
“I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

“This Hermione Granger...” Narcissa began. “Pretty and clever. I suppose she has nice legs too?”  
  
“They’re not bad,” he replied. “NOT that I was paying particular attention, Cissy.”  
  
“Oh relax, Lucius, I wasn’t going to judge you. You are free to look at whomever you like now. I can only watch.”  
  
“No one can replace you, Cissy, you must know that.”  
  
“No, but you must find a way to love and smile again soon, Lucius. You are beginning to look thin and old. Get some joy in your life again. For my sake, please?”  
  
Lucius sighed: “I will try dearest. Goodnight love.” 

His heart grew heavy again as he contemplated going to sleep in that overlarge bed on his own. Joy wasn’t his favourite emotion at the moment. 

The elves had drawn him a bath with soothing lavender and chamomile oils to ease his aching muscles. There certainly was not any happiness to be had in a bath like this without a willing witch waiting in his bed to lavish his directionless lust on. It took a moment to dry his hair and body with a set of pre-charmed towels. His favourite silk pyjamas were neatly laid out on his bed. Quickly he slipped into them, so he could walk to the window to gaze upon the setting sun watching the rich oranges and pinks bathe the extensive grounds in an ethereal glow. He contemplated the beauty for a moment before he truly headed for bed. 

Once settled with cocoa and a book Lucius read until he drifted off to sleep. Sometimes he woke up with his candles still burning, with a sick feeling that a shallow sleep provides. Added into that his nightmares plagued him, haunted by images of Draco being mutilated beyond recognition and a weeping; broken, and weak Narcissa kept troubling him playing over and over again as if it was a Pensieve memory. 

Amongst the vivid torture other, prettier images, interspersed between the blood and anguish, was something real and unreal at the same time.

Sunshine flooded his vision. Creating a golden haze found in April Mornings the ground under his bare feet covered in sweet refreshing dew. When the rising mist dissipated into the cerulean sky above; a small, twisting mossy path leads him to a wall of ivy, after that battle he knocked his elbow against a closed door that was hidden to him before.

_Old_ , he decided, scruffy to damp ridden no doubt or infested with woodworm: for it was just a beaten oak door, a fleur-de-lils carved right through the wood, under the arch, teasing him with little pockets of what lay beyond. He tried to push through, but something hit against his navel. A cast iron lock with a thumb-sized lever to push down had poked him in his belly-button: he rattled the lever several times; _Dammit, it is locked_! Impeded from this paradise, this Eden by a locked door in his own dream. Petulantly he kicked at the door with his naked feet and swore as it felt real; punching it with his fists, wincing as he noticed how swollen his hands were already! Lucius blinked several times; he was going to run out of words to describe shock if this vision were to continue in like vein. Suddenly a key miraculously appeared in the palm of his throbbing hands.

All he had to do was put the key in the lock and push that lever to see the delights he had passing glimpses of through the carving. Just as he was about to turn the heavy key the fleur-de-lils turned into a window with twisting curved little bars made of elm and vine. The fountain sparkled like liquid diamonds as the bright sun caught it’s tumbling waves.

Sitting on the edge, sniffing a little posy of flowers: yellow primroses, white lily-of-the-valleys, rich scented violets all combined with dark green leaves of rosemary acting as a blinding contrast to the delicate flowers – sitting amongst the breeze was a fey young woman in diaphanous lilac silk, a plunging sweetheart neckline, smooth chocolate waves adorned her shoulders with a few braids to frame her heart-shaped face. However, it was the slim but shapely calves, the flared hips and the sweetest pair of feet he’d ever set eyes upon that made his heart firmly beat into his chest; clogging his throat.  

He was astonished to discover this gorgeous siren was wearing the face and body of Hermione Granger!

By the time it took his dream self to calm down from this startling revelation she was now staring at him through the gaps in the barred window. Flecks of gold sparkled amongst the brown set in the largest ovals he’d ever seen confronting him: “Turn the key, Lucius, open this door to my secret garden,” she giggled behind the door. “Everyone deserves love, all. You. Have. To. Do. Is,” she heaved a breathy, seductive sigh, “Turn. The. Key!”

Just as he was about to firmly twist the key the ghoulish sounds of his peacocks rented the air throughout the grounds thus waking him from his dream.

“Tempus?” he asked wandlessly. Green cursive writing waved in front of him stating that it was 03:40 am. “Bloody peacocks!” he muttered plumping his cushions, turning all lights off and closed his eyes.

Unfortunately; the door, the key, the garden, the siren had all been replaced by some disconcerting visions. Why on earth was he dreaming of Molly Weasley being pregnant again… wasn’t she passed it now? Other oddities assaulted his subconscious too like Severus in a tutu and Lord Voldemort appearing at the meeting in flagrante delicto with Nagini...  

Eventually, he was so annoyed and sickened by his ‘ _visions_ ’ that he woke up… at 5 AM. 

Tuesday was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get picked up on it, Hermione's clothes were put away by Molly Weasley but they were organised by Chipsy.

**Author's Note:**

> I have rediscovered the desire to resurrect some of my old works, this story has 15 chapters already written with only a few more to go.


End file.
